The Long Road Back from Sorrow
by lianeviolet
Summary: **FINISHED** The murder of a colleague causes grief for Grissom and extreme determination in finding the killer among the rest of the C.S.I. team.
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Long Road Back from Sorrow  
  
Author: lianeviolet  
  
Rating: PG-13 for language and tone.  
  
Spoilers: None, except for the death of a secondary character.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters owned by the creators of CSI.  
  
Summary: G/S and C/W. The murder of a colleague causes grief for Grissom and extreme determination in finding the killer among the rest of the C.S.I. team.  
  
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Catherine pulled her car into a secluded parking lot in order to take a few moments to enjoy her favorite greasy cheeseburger and fries before her night of hard work began. She had even splurged on a large chocolate milkshake and was struggling to get the thick concoction up the straw when the familiar sound of her cell phone cut through the air. Her jubilant mood sank as she sighed and pulled the phone out of her jacket.  
  
"Willows," she answered, her exasperated tone very apparent to the caller.  
  
"Catherine? It's Gil. Where are you?"  
  
"You have such a knack for ruining my best meals, you know that?" she returned.  
  
"I need you to report to a crime scene right away. There's been a multiple shooting at Mirabella's, it's an Italian restaurant downtown. You know where it is? I'm sending Warrick there, also. I'll meet you both there."  
  
"Yeah, I'm only about three blocks away, I can be there in about five minutes."  
  
"What are you doing downtown?" he asked, sounding confused.  
  
"Not eating my dinner. I'll see you there." Catherine hung up her phone and grabbed a few fries before restarting her car and heading toward the expensive restaurant.  
  
The flashing lights and barricades set up by the police were visible from about a block away from Mirabella's and Catherine counted four police cars and two ambulances. She parallel parked a few cars away from the scene and dug around in her purse for her C.S.I. identification, before getting out and approaching Captain Brass and another officer. She flashed her badge at the other man and glanced around the area before speaking to the head detective.  
  
"What have we got, Brass?" she asked, noticing that the man always looked exhausted, like he was carrying the world perpetually on his shoulders.  
  
Brass introduced Catherine to the other detective. "We've got a multiple shooting, four victims and a few others injured. I haven't started interviewing any witnesses, I just got here myself and I didn't go inside yet. I told my men to start putting up the tape around the front of the restaurant. Is the rest of the team on the way?"  
  
"Yes, Grissom and Warrick should be here shortly. Let me start checking the area."  
  
Catherine left him and ducked under the yellow tape at the entrance to see a paramedic tending to a crying woman's wounded arm. She could still smell hints of gunpowder in the air as she stepped over broken glasses, napkins and tipped over chairs; she could only imagine the melee this place must have become when the shooting broke out. To her left, a man in a tuxedo was talking in an animated and hysterical manner to another police officer that was writing down what he said on a small, gray pad. She found the first body, which appeared to be an adult male, curled in the fetal position and almost obscured completely by an overturned table. About two feet from his body was the second victim, a well-dressed female lying on her stomach, and Catherine wondered if she might have been the man's wife. The off-white, silk dress she had been wearing was now stained in circles of blood and, getting a better view of the man's position, it appeared he had been reaching for the dead woman. Her thoughts drifted to the transient question of whether or not Eddie would have reached for her if they had ever been found in this manner. She shook that ridiculous and painful idea off quickly and started off toward the third victim, a teenage boy that could not have been older than fifteen. He had apparently been the third person sitting at the table with the other two victims and was most likely their son. Catherine dreaded seeing someone so young lying dead way before his time and this feeling of dread summoned up Lindsey's sweet face into her vision and made it hard to breathe for a moment.  
  
"Just a baby," she muttered under her breath, finally going on toward the fourth victim, who was across the restaurant on the north side. That was strange, given that most of the shooting had gone on by the south side as represented by all the shell casings on the floor there. She was a few feet away from the fourth fatality when her breath caught in her throat.  
  
No, it couldn't be. She moved closer to the body to get a better look and felt her heart sinking into a bottomless chasm. She turned her head to the side in disbelief and closed her eyes as she felt the tears starting; she tried to restrain the lump of shock and sorrow that was coming up into her throat. "Oh, God.no," she whispered. She covered her mouth trying to stifle the emotion.  
  
After a few moments, Catherine stood up and, trying to regain her composure, walked briskly out of the restaurant and up to Brass, who was now surrounded by a few more officers.  
  
"No one lets Gil Grissom come onto this crime scene until I talk to him first," she barked out, her finger pointing at them and her voice shaking. "Do you understand? Not until I talk to him first!"  
  
Brass looked surprised at her unusual authoritative tone and just nodded. "Catherine?" he inquired, with concern. "Is everything O.k.?"  
  
"No. No, Brass, everything is not O.k. Everything is not O.k." Succumbing to the overwhelming grief, Catherine collapsed onto the curb, put her face in her hands and began weeping.  
  
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	2. Chapter Two

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Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Grissom's nerves were buzzing like they always did from anticipation while on his way to a scene and he hated this kind of congested traffic, but it was to be expected in such a popular tourist area like Las Vegas. It irritated him because he knew every moment counted after a crime was committed; crime scenes got corrupted by well-intentioned law enforcement rookies who walked zealously through the area repeatedly, or by witnesses and bystanders that were milling around there. He knew Brass and Catherine would cordon off the area immediately, but he just needed to be there physically; to inundate himself in his job was the only thing that made him feel truly comfortable and useful.  
  
After moving slower than a somnambulistic snail for an overwhelming twenty minutes, Grissom finally arrived at Mirabella's. He parked his car behind Catherine's, took his investigation kit from out of the backseat and adjusted his identification badge. He made his way to the yellow tape amid blinking lights and paramedics, when a young police officer stepped in his way.  
  
He looked up at the man and showed him his credentials. "Gil Grissom, I'm from the crime lab."  
  
"Um, I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom, sir. I have orders to detain you here," the officer said, with obvious discomfort.  
  
Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Detain me? I'm the primary investigator on this case and I have to get to this crime scene. Now, if you'll excuse me. . . ." The officer refused to move and from a distance, Grissom saw Catherine squeezing through the mob of people. "Catherine?" He could tell her eyes were red and slightly puffy, which was causing him great concern; Catherine never cried. Ever.  
  
"I asked him to stop you, Gil. I need to speak with you in private for a moment," she remarked. Grissom was now extremely agitated since Catherine rarely referred to him by his first name unless the situation was grave. He searched her face for any hint of what could be the problem and she took him by the arm and moved him to an area where they could have some privacy.  
  
"Catherine, what's going on? Why am I not allowed in the restaurant?"  
  
"Gil.listen, please. I just wanted to prepare you before you went in there."  
  
He was able to discern from her tone and mannerisms that something was dreadfully wrong and he almost didn't want to find out what she had to reveal. She placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.  
  
"Gil, there's just no good way to tell you this. There are four homicide victims in that restaurant, dead from apparent gunshot wounds. One of them is Teri, Gil. She's dead, I'm so sorry." Catherine's eyes started filling up again.  
  
Grissom felt all the breath leave his body as if he had been hit in the chest and his ears were humming by a rush of blood that had just gone to his head. It was almost similar to being underwater, the swishing sounds of the surrounding water, the liquid seeping into his chest, stealing his oxygen. He was shocked almost beyond speech and when he closed his eyes, he only saw Teri's lovely face behind the lids; a most brilliant light in this immeasurable and lonely universe had just been extinguished forever.  
  
"Oh, God," he exhaled, his shoulders slumping. He placed his forehead in the palm of his hand to steady himself. "Are you absolutely sure that it's her?" Grissom was experiencing unmitigated denial. Surely, Catherine was mistaken; it just couldn't be kind, beautiful and intelligent Teri lying dead in there.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she repeated, studying his pallid expression and she knew that her tragic news had just broken his entire soul. She watched as the complete desolation he wore in his features turned into all-encompassing anger; she had seen this face before, only then he was holding a dead infant in his arms. He moved forcefully toward the restaurant, and Catherine held him back with all her strength. He had the determined appearance that he would walk right through her if that is what he had to do in order to enter that building.  
  
"Catherine, I need to get in there," he warned, his voice sounding edgy and intense, so unlike him. She put both hands on his chest and pushed him back, gently while he began to struggle and protest.  
  
"Gil, listen to me a minute. You shouldn't go in there, you were extremely close to one of the victims, this is too personal. Let me take this case, O.k.? She was a remarkable scientist and person and I'm feeling her loss, too, but with you, it's different. Let me head this one, please?" Grissom stopped resisting then and dropped his head in resignation.  
  
"We'll find the guy, we will," she continued. "You have a lot of work to catch up on at the lab, take some time to do that and I'll take this one over. O.k.? I'll call in the whole team for this one."  
  
It was so hard for Grissom to relinquish control to another person even though he knew deep down that Catherine was very capable of taking over the case. He just felt he needed to be involved in this; he wanted to be the one to find out who committed this enormous injustice. He knew she was right and, looking completely disconsolate and tired, he shook his head in affirmation. "Perhaps you should take over for the rest of the night. Please keep me apprised of this investigation, though. I want to know what's going on."  
  
Catherine smiled sympathetically. "Of course. You'll be the first person I notify of any new developments. Now go back to the office and try to get some work done." She squeezed his shoulder compassionately and headed back toward the restaurant.  
  
Grissom gave a slight smile at Catherine's genuine concern for him, it began to warm the frozen block inside his chest, and he started toward his car when he saw the tall, striking figure of Warrick approaching.  
  
"Hey, I was looking for you guys. I got here about ten minutes ago, what's going on?" He could tell from Grissom's face that something else really serious had gone down here tonight.  
  
"Sorry, Warrick, we didn't mean to hold you up. Catherine wanted us to be alone when she told me that Teri Miller was one of the victims in tonight's homicides. You remember Teri, she was one of the most talented forensic anthropologists; she did the facial reconstruction on that woman we found in the basement wall of that house awhile back."  
  
"Yeah, she was that pretty blonde, right? I didn't recognize her in there, she did a really great job on that face. That's such a shame, I'm really sorry to hear that." Warrick averted his eyes to the ground upon hearing this sad news. He glanced back up at Grissom perceiving just how badly he was taking this and found he was at a loss for anything else comforting to say.  
  
"I've made Catherine the head C.S.I. on this case, and any others tonight. She's convinced that I shouldn't work on this one case due to the fact that I knew Teri pretty well. She's thinking that I might lose my objectivity, and she's probably right. I'm going back to the lab to work on some other things. I have my cell phone if you or anyone else needs anything."  
  
"No problem, I understand. I've already done a quick once-over inside the restaurant. We got a lot of shells and bullet fragments scattered all over the place, so I'm going to start taking photos, marking off the areas, and cataloguing and collecting the pieces. Looks like it's going to be a pretty big job," Warrick sighed, running his hand through his hair.  
  
"I'll be in touch," Grissom said over his shoulder, walking toward his car.  
  
"Hey, Grissom?"  
  
"Yes, Warrick?"  
  
"Take care, O.k.?"  
  
Grissom smiled at Warrick's calm and subtle way of expressing his concern for his usually guarded boss. He nodded and started again toward where he had parked.  
  
An eternity seemed to pass before he found his vehicle; he had forgotten that the street had been so dark where he had left his car. He unlocked the door and climbed inside, placing his evidence kit on the passenger seat next to him. He wasn't sure how long he was sitting there, staring at nothing, feeling Teri's soft hands on his as they placed casting material inside the concrete mold that had once held the skeleton of that unfortunate woman. His heart ached as he dwelled upon how much compiled knowledge and expertise, not to mention the wonderful artistic gift, that were now lost forever with Teri's death. He was still able to see those radiant blue eyes when he closed his.  
  
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	3. Chapter Three

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Warrick stepped carefully over the crime scene tape, his impressive height from long legs made this much easier than attempting to crouch low and duck under it. He saw Catherine on the north side of Mirabella's and walked gingerly over all the glass and chairs until he was standing next to her. She was kneeling over Teri's body, studying what appeared to be the exit wound at the front of her throat.  
  
"Find anything of interest, Catherine?" She glanced up at him, exhaling audibly and dropping her shoulders with a feeling of senselessness.  
  
"It appears she has only one gunshot wound, I would say she was shot from behind, the bullet exiting her throat. I was able to dig a bullet fragment out of the wood floor nearby. I wasn't able to find any shells right around here, though, so I have no idea what caliber it is. I'm trying to figure out which way she was facing, north or south, it looks like the impact of the shooting moved her some after she was shot."  
  
"The bullet fragments around the other bodies were shot from a nine millimeter. There are casings and fragments all over the place, it's going to be one hell of a job cataloguing all this stuff. It looks like the shooter emptied the nine millimeter. I guess we'll have to wait until ballistics examines your bullet fragment before we find out whether it's a nine, too."  
  
"You're right; it's hard to really judge anything here until we get all this evidence back to the lab."  
  
"Brass says we have two witnesses who say they got a good look at the shooter. I'm going to go talk to them then I'll come back in and help you with the rest of the collection."  
  
"O.k., I'm going to call Nick and Sara, ask them to come down, too." Catherine put a small, plastic bag that contained the bullet fragment into a larger evidence envelope.  
  
Warrick had the appearance that he was going to say something else to her, but instead walked back out of the restaurant and over to one of the squad cars where a short woman was shaking visibly and talking excitedly to Detective Brass.  
  
"Hi, I'm Warrick Brown, one of the investigators on this crime scene. You told Captain Brass that you saw the shooter?"  
  
"Yes, he was a well-dressed man with short, dark brown hair. He just came in and just started shooting everyone all of a sudden. He was crazy, he must have been crazy to do this, right?" She was speaking very quickly from jarred nerves. "Then everyone went frantic, ducking for cover and running around. It was just insane!"  
  
Warrick jotted down the rest of the man's description from the woman and confirmed those details with the second witness. A young, dark-haired man of average height, wearing a suit, walked into the restaurant through the front entrance, pulled a gun out of his jacket and started firing. When the gun was spent, he bolted out of the place back through the front door.  
  
He walked back into Mirabella's, took a camera from Catherine and started taking some final pictures of the body positions and any evidence around them, primarily bullet fragments. Catherine let him know that she had already phoned Nick and Sara and they were on their way; thank God for that, their help would cut down the evidence processing time a great deal.  
  
Just as Warrick was beginning to place number placards over each spot where a bullet was found, Nick and Sara arrived through the door. They both watched with obvious respect as a paramedic rolled a covered body out to the ambulance that was waiting. When he had gone, they made their way over to where Warrick was stationed.  
  
"Was that her?" Sara asked, quietly. "That's really awful."  
  
"Yeah," Warrick answered, with a small sigh. "Griss is really hung up about this one. Just goes to show, you never know when it's your time. I mean, here she is enjoying this nice dinner and in a few moments, her life is over. Really makes you think, huh?"  
  
Nick and Sara nodded in silent agreement. "So, what do you need us to do?" Sara continued.  
  
"Well, I took pictures of most of the scene and now I'm placing the cards at all the places on the south side that I've found bullets and shells, and believe me, there's a lot of them. If you could just take some more photographs and start putting them in bags with notations on where they were found, that would be great."  
  
"Will do," Nick answered, with his usual complacent grin.  
  
"O.k., I'll let you guys finish up here and I'll head to the crime lab to see what Al comes up with during the autopsy. See you guys in awhile." Warrick took off his rubber gloves, placed them in a plastic evidence bag, and handed it to Sara. She placed it with the rest of the clues that had been collected thus far and watched Warrick leave as Nick headed over to Catherine.  
  
Sara then stood for a few moments, unable to take her eyes away from a medium-sized plastic bag that held what seemed to be a napkin with blood spatters. She wondered if perhaps it was Teri's blood that had stained it. She hadn't known the woman that well, but she had heard that Grissom had shown a romantic interest in her at one point, and as guilty as it made her feel, she felt a little jealous about his relationship with Teri. No, that was ridiculous; she shouldn't feel that way, this poor woman just lost her life and Sara had no right to feel the way she did. Thinking about all the emotions Grissom must be going through, stopped her seemingly selfish thoughts for the moment and she knew that because he was so reluctant to express himself openly, it was going to be very difficult for him in the next few days. However awkward she could be sometimes in dealing with other people, she tried to think about how she might be able to help Grissom through this. She moved away from the bag and went to work on the scene.  
  
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Al Robbins turned on the microphone hanging above him and took a moment to shake his head in disbelief and sadness as he viewed the young woman's body lying on the cold, metal slab and covered with a white sheet. Such a loss to the forensic world and the rest of the world; Teri Miller was such a special person. He had known her a little longer than the rest of the staff, they had worked together sporadically on different reconstruction cases and he felt even worse knowing that she was so young and had such a bright future ahead of her with such artistic ability and kindness. Who could have done such a terrible thing to such a wonderful person?  
  
Robbins pulled back the sheet gently, only enough to expose the wound at her throat; he still wanted to afford her some dignity in death. He knew he would have to examine her more thoroughly later on during the autopsy, but he would just work on the area that was necessary at the time. He used a magnifying glass to get a closer look at the opening and began speaking into the air. He was surprised by how monotone and empty his voice sounded to his own ears.  
  
"Subject, Teri Miller, apparent age, mid-thirties. Pronounced dead at 10:29 p.m.; cause of death appears to be a bullet wound through the throat, entered from the back of the neck, exited out the front about 2 cm below the Adam's Apple. From the circumference of the exit wound, the assailant had to have shot the gun from about five to six feet away." Robbins started to turn her body over carefully in order to view the entrance path and was so engrossed in his work that he didn't hear the opening of the morgue door and the soft footsteps into the macabre room that followed.  
  
"Is that her?" a soft and melancholy voice asked from behind him.  
  
Robbins looked over his shoulder quickly, shocked at the interruption, but upon finding out who had entered, he was very glad that his own body was obscuring the one lying on the table.  
  
"Gil, you shouldn't be in here," he announced, covering Teri's face quickly with the rest of the sheet and hurried across the room to Grissom while noticing the complete despondency in his friend's face.  
  
Gil raised his eyes slowly to meet the coroner's and it pained Robbins to see such sorrow. He placed his hand on Gil's shoulder, trying to appear as the concerned, fatherly type that he was. "This is very hard, I know."  
  
"I have to see her, Al. I need some time with her."  
  
"Gil, I don't think that would be the best idea right now. Please, you should go, you don't want to remember her like this."  
  
Grissom swallowed audibly, obviously trying to hold back a mountain of emotion, and for the first time, Robbins was seeing another side of his long time colleague, and he squeezed his shoulder. "You don't want to remember her laying in this place, my friend. Keep the fond memories that you have of her, Gil. I promise to have my report to you as soon as it's finished."  
  
Grissom was staring across the room at the covered figure and Robbins thought for a brief moment that perhaps he hadn't heard him, but then he nodded slowly. Robbins helped lead him back to the door, patting his arm compassionately.  
  
"I wish there was something I could say to help you through this, Gil. Her death is such an overwhelming loss." Grissom just stared blankly and shook his head.  
  
"Thanks, Al, you're right, I need to go. Just so you're aware, I gave this case over to Catherine, so she's the one who needs the report, but I'd appreciate it if you could give me a copy."  
  
"Of course." Robbins opened the door, helped Grissom out, and went back to the terrible task of studying the wound on Teri's neck. His job was always more difficult when the victim was an innocent child or someone he had known.  
  
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Grissom stood in front of the morgue door for a good number of minutes before he realized he should get back to work and went into his office. Sitting down at his desk, he began shuffling through papers, not really seeing the papers, just jumbled black words and scattered punctuation on an ocean of white. His eyes moved around his office and fell sadly upon his tarantula cage, which was still the home of his orange-kneed spider. He closed his eyes and watched how Teri took the spider from him and held it ever so gently; one of the few women he had ever seen who didn't squeal aloud from squeamishness. She had the same respect for animals that he did, even insects and arachnids; she had just let his friend crawl slowly along her hand.  
  
"She's gone," he spoke to the tarantula, as if he could understand the magnitude of those two words. Teri Miller was really gone.  
  
He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for what seemed to be eons, then poked around in his desk drawer for the small container that held his migraine medication. He took two pills dry and turned down his lamplight, attempting to rest awhile and head off his migraine before it got any worse. He tried to think about nothing, just letting his mind float in blank air with thoughts of absolute neutrality, but her face always interrupted his efforts.  
  
He had never told her how he had felt about her and that is what seemed to haunt him the most. Their clumsy attempt at dating had left him sitting at an empty table, feeling torn between the passion that he had for his job and trying to find the time to bring this exceptional woman into his life. The ridiculous idea that he actually had what might be called a "life", caused him to chuckle out loud, scornfully. He had his insects and he had his work; that is not an accurate definition of a "life".  
  
It had been a few months since he had even seen Teri, they did not communicate much after the dinner fiasco. It was terrible that they had both felt this interest and attraction to each other, but his work did not permit him the time he needed to make a relationship work; Teri had known this and so did he, painfully, but he still should have made more of an effort to get together with her, to try to work things out.  
  
Paths never taken and roads never traveled; thinking of these things was futile after this tragedy, he needed to stop asking himself, "What if.?" He was saddened to think that Teri never even had a chance to get married or have children. It angered him, the injustice that there was nothing left behind on this earth that was evidence that this wonderful woman had once been here. Well, that wasn't entirely true; through her artistic talent and skillful knowledge, she had given unknown skulls a face and helped give suffering families closure on the fates of their loved ones. He couldn't discount the fact that, without her, those people might not have ever found out what happened to their missing family member, and not knowing was sometimes worse than just finding out the inevitable.  
  
In the few weeks before Teri's death, he had realized that his feelings for her were beginning to wane; absence can do that, it can either make the heart grow fonder or help someone lose their interest in a person. Grissom was suffering some undeserved guilt about that now that she was dead and it caused him to wonder who would come forward to claim her body? Did she have a lover or a family member to contact about this terrible event? Oh, he had forgotten that she was having dinner at the time of her death and a charming woman like Teri would not have been eating alone. He pondered who she might have shared this last meal with when he realized these thoughts were causing him to grow more and more depressed; he really needed to stop reflecting upon all that had occurred tonight and, either get some rest or get some work done. He rubbed his eyes for a few more minutes and decided to take a walk to get some coffee. He was going to need a lot of caffeine to keep himself awake after such a disquieting night.  
  
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	4. Chapter Four

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Warrick slipped quietly through the morgue doors just as Al Robbins was finishing up the autopsy on the teenage victim and he cleared his throat gently to let Al know he was there.  
  
"Hey, Al. It's been one hell of a night," he remarked, shaking his head in sadness as he approached the table and viewed the body of the fifteen-year old; Al appeared as if he hadn't slept for a few days with the heavy, dark circles visible under his eyes.  
  
"Tell me about it; there's nothing worse than doing an autopsy on a young person dead way before his time or someone you know, and tonight, I've had both. Hold on a moment, I need to get a cup of coffee before I start on the last victim." He walked across the room to his machine, poured himself some coffee and offered Warrick a cup, which he accepted gratefully after all the work he had done at the restaurant.  
  
"How does it look so far?" Warrick inquired. "Did you get any more slugs out of the other victims?"  
  
"I removed a few bullet fragments from the woman and the teenager. I'll give them over to you for further examination by ballistics. These two victims were both shot numerous times and a few of the bullets hit major organs and blood vessels. The woman bled to death, and the young man who I believe was her son, died from a gunshot wound to the heart. Teri, however, was shot only once, through the back of her neck which severed her spinal cord. She died almost instantly, Warrick, and Grissom will be relieved to know she didn't suffer. It appears from the exit wound that whoever shot her was standing about five to six feet away from her. Did you find the bullet that killed her on the scene?"  
  
"Yeah, Catherine picked up a fragment on the floor near her body. I just got back from ballistics and they identified it as a thirty-two millimeter; the only thirty-two that we got from the scene. The two witnesses at the restaurant described only one shooter and they said he only pulled one gun. I'm starting to think there had to be another shooter. I need to recreate the crime scene on the computer so we can get these trajectory patterns in order."  
  
"I think it sounds pretty plausible that there might have been a second shooter. I'm going to start the procedure on the fourth victim, the man found at the scene. You don't have to stay for this if you're not comfortable, Warrick."  
  
"No, I've been here for autopsies worse than this; I think I can handle it, but thanks for the consideration." Just as Warrick finished speaking, Nick came through the door.  
  
"Hey, we just got done logging in most of the other evidence from the restaurant. I came by to find out what the status is on the victims," he said.  
  
Warrick filled him in on what he had learned so far and Nick was intrigued on the theory that there might have been a second shooter. He grimaced as he and Warrick watched Robbins pull three bullet fragments from out of the man's chest.  
  
"You see this hole here," Robbins said, pointing to an area near the man's heart. "The bullet went through a major artery. This man bled to death internally, much like his wife. It's so terrible to see an entire family come through here at the same time." He sighed at the senselessness of this complete misfortune and removed his rubber gloves.  
  
"I'm going to take a much needed break for a few minutes; if you need me, I'll be in the break room." Robbins, carrying his coffee, exited the morgue and Warrick handed Nick the fragments that Al had given him.  
  
"Can you take these over to ballistics? I'm going take the pictures from the scene and put the coordinates of the bullet fragments and casings into the computer to try to figure out the path that each bullet took. I'll be in the lab, let me know if you find out anything about the bullets." Nick nodded in confirmation.  
  
Nick glanced down at the plastic bags knowing there was not much ballistics could do with them at this point, especially without a murder weapon to check them against, but he was still hoping that the bullets could help lead the team to some information about the gun or anything that could be useful in the investigation. He didn't want the killer to get away with this horrible crime.  
  
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Sara tried not to glance into Grissom's office as she headed toward the lab; she had just gotten finished logging in all the other evidence with Nick when Catherine stopped her with surprising news.  
  
"Sara, we have to go, I just got a call. You're not going to believe this; we've got another shooting in the parking lot of the Luxor Hotel and Casino. Apparently, it's only a single female victim this time. Come on, you can ride with me; we don't need the guys. We're big girls, we can handle this alone."  
  
Sara followed Catherine out to her car and climbed into the passenger seat, noticing the smell of greasy potatoes in the air and trying not to step on the fast food bag lying on the floor near her feet. She grinned and peeked over at Catherine who was busy putting on her seatbelt.  
  
"I'm glad to know I'm not the only one with a penchant for junk food," she said, laughing. "I'm jealous, how do you keep your figure eating that stuff? I have to work out like crazy if I just eat one french fry!"  
  
"Ah, but you forget, my dear, I was an exotic dancer and we have trade secrets, which just means that I have to exercise like crazy, too." She grinned back at Sara, put the car in drive and began the drive to the casino.  
  
They drove in silence for a few moments until Sara finally spoke; there was something that had been on her mind for a large amount of the night.  
  
"Um, Catherine? I have a question for you, but I don't want to you to think anything weird about it, I mean, I'm just curious, you know?" She ran through this sentence very quickly with perceptive nervousness and glimpsed down at her hands, trying to summon enough courage to ask the question.  
  
Catherine looked at her briefly, picking up on the anxiety, before returning her blue eyes to the road. "O.k., go ahead."  
  
Sara continued talking rapidly. "I know that this probably isn't the best time, I mean, with everything that happened tonight, but I was just wondering, um, how close was Grissom with Teri? I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I completely understand. Really, it's none of my business, but I just, you know, wondered about it. I know he's not taking this well at all."  
  
Catherine took a moment to prepare her answer. She wasn't comfortable about revealing really personal details to Sara even though she liked her very much; she and Grissom had an understanding about each other that extended past professional courtesy. They had worked together for a long time and had been through a lot of difficult things, during their jobs and their private lives. Grissom had been there for her more than anyone else during her tumultuous mess with Eddie; she had confided in him plenty of things that she wouldn't want broadcast around the lab, but she knew that he was very discreet and was sure that he would expect the same consideration from her. On the other hand, she was a very perceptive person and she knew this inquiry from Sara was arising from the fact that Sara had more than a professional interest in Grissom; Catherine wondered briefly if Sara's attraction to their boss was obvious to anyone else on their team other than herself. She also knew that this magnetism between he and Sara was mutual, whether Grissom was aware of it or not; she was a woman, how could she not notice when two people had the hots for each other? However, she needed to tread carefully here, no matter how much she wanted to push the two into each other's arms.  
  
"Well, they worked together a few times on different cases and developed a friendship. Teri was a very intelligent and pleasant woman. She was the top forensic anthropologist in the country. I don't really know much else about their relationship, but, I can understand why he would be upset about her death; I knew her also, and she was a very special person." It was very difficult for Catherine to refer to Teri in the past tense.  
  
"I saw the work she did on that woman's face, it's so terrible that this happened to her," Sara answered, becoming somewhat quieter. Catherine noticed the change in her demeanor and looked over at her. Oh, the heck with subtlety, it's such an overrated concept, anyway, she thought.  
  
"You know, you could just tell him how you feel." The expression upon Sara's face like she was about to choke from shock almost caused Catherine to burst out giggling like a schoolgirl.  
  
"W-what?" she stammered, turning a quite blazing shade of scarlet. "I mean, what makes you think."  
  
"Oh, come on, Sara, we're both adults here. I see how you look at him sometimes; there's more than just respect for a co-worker in those eyes." She gave Sara a wise and omnipotent gaze.  
  
Sara's look of surprise slowly became a smile of embarrassment and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God. Is it that obvious?"  
  
"Well, to be honest, no. When you've dealt with a lot of people in your life and lived through a lot of experiences, not to infer that I'm old or anything, but, you learn to see signs and the fact that I'm female probably helps. Most of us women have a lust radar that can detect sexual attraction from a mile away."  
  
Sara really started laughing at that idea, but after a few moments, she sobered up a bit. She knew intrinsically that the reality of a romantic relationship with her boss would be extremely inappropriate in the work setting.  
  
"I," she began and sighed heavily. "I can't, Catherine. I can't tell him how I feel, he's my superior; I don't just work with him, I work for him. Nothing good can come from something like that." She averted her eyes out the passenger window, watching the street lamps drift past, feeling a depression settle over her once again. "And, you know, what if.never mind."  
  
"What if, what?" Catherine pressed, with some exasperation.  
  
"What if he doesn't feel the same, I'll feel like a total jerk and I'll have to quit, I mean, I wouldn't be able to look him in the face again, right?"  
  
"I don't think you have to worry about that," Catherine remarked, with the tone of a smirk evident in her voice.  
  
"What?" Sara turned to face her, suddenly excited. "What do you know? Tell me!"  
  
"I don't know anything," she replied, with mock innocence. "Sara, the best thing I can tell you is to follow your heart. I know that sounds incredibly corny, and to tell you the truth, I can't believe that just came out of my mouth, but is it better to suffer in silence and think about what might have been? Isn't it better to just know the truth? I mean, why fantasize when you might actually be able to have what you desire, you know what I mean?"  
  
Sara sat back down against the seat. "Yeah, but, it's just really risky, that's all. Mixing my job with my personal life, I'll have to think about that."  
  
"Well, that's a good idea, and don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Catherine winked at her and patted her on the arm. Sara smiled to herself; it actually felt good to have someone else know about this huge emotion that she had been carrying around concealed for months; it took a large weight off her shoulders. They continued driving in silence for a few more minutes until they reached the Luxor Hotel and Casino on Las Vegas Boulevard. Flashing emergency vehicle lights were visible as they turned into the parking lot.  
  
Catherine parked her car and unlocked the back seat where she kept her evidence kit. Sara took it out and both women headed over to Captain Brass, who appeared even more exhausted than he had earlier in the evening.  
  
"Oh, great," Catherine commented in jest. "Not you again. I'm starting to think you're the only homicide detective in Las Vegas. I need a change of scenery."  
  
"Hello, once again, ladies," he said, with a grin. "I'm sorry we keep meeting under such poor circumstances."  
  
"To tell you the truth, I've met men under stranger circumstances than this," she continued, walking past Brass's confused look and toward the yellow tape; she figured she'd just let him stew on that one for awhile.  
  
"Her name is Maggie Peterson. A security guard called 911 after he heard a single gunshot from the parking lot. She hasn't been dead longer than half an hour," Brass explained.  
  
The woman was lying in a prone position next to a gray or silver car; it was difficult to tell the true color in the darkness. Sara put down the investigation equipment, took out two pairs of rubber gloves, and handed one set to Catherine. She took a flashlight out of her pocket and followed her colleague over to the body; Catherine was surprised by what she found upon a closer examination.  
  
"Sara, look at this," she said, indicating an exit wound a few inches from the base of the victim's throat. "One gunshot wound, it's almost identical in placement to the one on Teri. Warrick let me know that the fragment at the restaurant was a thirty-two. I wonder if we'll find any thirty-two fragments lying around here."  
  
Sara moved in nearer to the woman and made an astute observation. "You know, Catherine, she has very similar characteristics to Teri; long blonde hair, body type and height. In fact, if seen from the back, she'd probably be mistaken for her." This investigation was becoming more interesting by the second. Sara took a camera out of the bag.  
  
Catherine stared down at the body, her analytical mind playing with the pieces of the puzzle thus far and repeating the phrase "mistaken for her" over and over. Sara shined the flashlight around the scene until it glinted off a piece of metal in the space about five feet behind the body.  
  
"I think we just got it," she announced. She photographed and marked the spot, then took a plastic bag out of her pocket and picked up the bullet casing very carefully. She placed it in the sack and, after calculating where the woman might have been standing from her position on the ground and the location of the casing, she poked around the area until she found the bullet fragment that had exited the body and had embedded itself near the license plate of a car. "Looks like a thirty-two; it's stamped clearly on the casing."  
  
"We didn't find a casing for a thirty-two at the restaurant, just the remains of the bullet," Catherine remarked, partly to herself.  
  
"Warrick was working on the trajectory pattern of the bullets when we left; he thinks there might have been a second shooter."  
  
"Let's finish up here and get back to the lab. I want to see what Warrick's found out."  
  
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	5. Chapter Five

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He was supposed to be finishing paperwork on a stabbing from the previous night; endless reports were the least satisfying part of his job and he would rather be out in the field with a true sensation of accomplishment than buried under mounds of paper. Glancing up briefly, he watched the most satisfying part of his job walk past his office and begin a conversation with Catherine in the hallway. She was so lovely, and the most appealing thing about her was that she had no idea that she was lovely. He suspected that sometimes Sara didn't even really identify herself as a female; he thought she probably just sees herself as a criminal investigator first, a scientist second and a woman, perhaps fourth or fifth on her list of self-identity. He was aware that she was not comfortable with herself or her femininity; one of the reasons that she threw herself into her work and one of the many reasons he was so attracted her. While he stared, Sara and Catherine both hurried away with a purposeful gait. Catherine had just touched base with him a few minutes earlier regarding the second shooting, and he figured they were on their way to the scene. He leaned back in his chair, reveling in the welcomed distraction, and let his mind wander.  
  
Sara. The sibilant name upon his lips brought him equal amounts of elation and perplexity, and after what had now happened with Teri, it brought him a small amount of guilt, also. Sara was the foremost reason that his feelings for Teri had started fading over time. He worked with Sara and saw her on a regular basis, which he could admit in the secrecy of his own heart, had stirred up the feelings he had for her once before when she had been his student. He could not act upon his emotions then, and he still could not. Sara was under his employ; an indiscretion between them, or any attempt at a liaison outside of work, was frowned upon by administration and, of course, society in general. This brought him great frustration, and he knew that his feelings for her were just going to become more and more fervent as time continued.  
  
Teri's sudden death and the remorse that he had never admitted his feelings to her had been floating around his mind most of the night. It needled at him as he drank his coffee, shuffled through paperwork, attempted to have conversations with his colleagues; this regret was leaving him sick and hollow. He understood deep down why these thoughts were disturbing him so greatly, he just did not want to deal with the enormity of those emotions right now; it was just too soon and too impossible to wade through, like some unsolvable conundrum.  
  
Grissom stopped himself at that moment, knowing that denial and avoidance never achieved anything beneficial. The truth was that he did not want to ever feel this remorse again. He never wanted to be sorry that he hadn't told another person how he cared for them, how much they meant to him and how much he enjoyed having them in his life. He did not want to regret having never told Sara how much he loved her.  
  
He loved Sara. This overwhelming emotion finally put into words caused Grissom to put his head into his hands and he sighed heavily. How could this have happened? He couldn't be in love with anyone more unattainable that the lovely Sara; she was an unreachable universe because of their shared workplace and her somewhat reserved personality.  
  
After pondering this whole situation, Grissom finally decided to just let it go for the moment and keep his feelings for Sara his own precious secret. He spun a ballpoint pen between his fingers sadly, trying to get back into the proper frame of mind to finish his reports.  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
Sara walked out of the morgue after speaking to Al Robbins concerning the autopsy on Maggie Peterson and searched around the floor until she found Nick and Warrick sitting at one of the computers used for analysis.  
  
"Hey, what's up? Get anything on the trajectory pattern yet?"  
  
"Actually, I was just about to show Nick what I found out. Wanna take a look?" Warrick asked, turning the monitor slightly to include Sara in the viewing.  
  
"Sure," she said, hunching down a bit toward the screen.  
  
"Now, these blue dots are representing the nine millimeter fragments found around the three victims on the south side of the restaurant. You can see the three bodies are in the seats at the table where we figured they were sitting by their bullet wounds and found fragments. The shooter had to be shooting in a south west direction when he shot these three. Now you see this green dot, here, which represents the thirty-two millimeter that was found near the north side of the restaurant by Teri. According to its placement on the floor and Teri's wounds, you can tell that someone had to have shot her in a south east direction."  
  
The other two investigators understood immediately. "So, you're saying someone had to have been behind her, facing south. There's no way the first shooter could have done that. He was shooting from in front of her. For a bullet from his gun to have hit her, he would have had to shoot toward the north," Nick surmised.  
  
"Right, which would have caused the bullet to enter the front of her throat and exit in the back," Warrick said. "The opposite of what we found."  
  
"We have a second shooter," Nick and Sara announced together.  
  
"Yep. I'm going to head back to the restaurant to see if I can find anymore evidence we might have missed the first time. Now that we know where the perpetrator was standing, I'm sure there's got to be something around there somewhere." Warrick stood up from his seat and stretched for a moment; he had been sitting at that computer for a long time. "You get any information about the woman in the hotel parking lot?"  
  
"Yeah, I just left the morgue. Al said she was shot from behind from about the same distance as Teri and the bullet severed her spinal cord the same way also. You know, it's amazing the resemblance that woman had to Teri. There's just got to be something to that, I mean, what are the odds that two women, almost identical, die within a few hours of each other in the same manner?"  
  
Nick pondered that for a few moments. "I'm just about to head over to ballistics and see what they found out about the other bullets. I wonder if they found anything else that would be useful."  
  
"Meet you guys back here in a little while." Warrick headed out the door to get back to the restaurant. He had a sense of satisfaction that his theory of a second shooter had been correct.  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Warrick arrived at the restaurant having already awakened the owner in order to reopen the building so he could gain access inside. He treaded carefully around the room with a metal detector he had brought with him and moved the somewhat bulky machine slowly over ever inch of ground that might have been overlooked. Viewing where Teri's table had been marked, he realized that there was a large palm tree about six feet behind it that was almost completely obscuring a hallway. He carefully restricted the detector to that immediate area and was rewarded with a beeping sound right behind the pot which held the tree. He knelt down and found the thirty-two millimeter casing that had not been found earlier. He searched through his evidence kit until he found the fingerprint brush and powder and proceeded to dust the end of the casing; it revealed a partial fingerprint.  
  
Bingo, he thought, with a grin spreading across his face. He was hoping desperately that there were enough ridges of the fingerprint to put through A.F.I.S. in order to match it to someone. Partial prints were very tricky in that manner; sometimes there were enough swirls to match and sometimes, it fell just a bit short.  
  
Upon further inspection of the area, Warrick found traces of gunpowder residue on the wall next to the tree. The shooter had definitely fired the thirty-two from the vicinity behind the palm tree and most likely exited the building from that adjoining hallway. This would explain why no witnesses came forward mentioning a second person, but that bit of information didn't answer the two most puzzling questions. Were these two shooters working together since the murders happened at almost the exact same time? Was it at all possible that these could have been two completely unrelated shootings?  
  
Warrick followed the hallway and found it exited behind the restaurant in a dark parking lot and removed his flashlight in order to examine the ground and dumpster nearby. He didn't see anything else that might be helpful or out of place and discerned that there might not be anymore evidence to be found at the restaurant. Packing up all of his equipment, Warrick headed back to the lab, hoping Nick might have found out more about the rest of the bullet evidence.  
  
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Nick entered the ballistics room and studied the technician's face very carefully to gauge how things had turned out. Apparently, there was good news; the second thirty-two millimeter bullet fragment found on the second scene matched Teri's bullet; the fragments had the same barrel pattern and, therefore, they both came from the same gun. The tech also explained that the casing from that same bullet had a partial print which might be able to help identify the shooter. Now Nick knew for sure that the murders were definitely connected.  
  
"Terrible about those restaurant murders," the technician mentioned, trying to make some conversation. "I saw the news broadcast about that on the eleven o'clock news. They were just trying to have a nice dinner, those people. Such a shame, huh?"  
  
Nick stopped dead at the man's statement and turned toward the technician, awareness of something really important in the tech's words becoming apparent on his face and his brain burning with a new idea. He grinned at the man and then rushed over to the door.  
  
"Thanks, man. Really, for everything. Um, I gotta go check something; if anyone asks, I'll be back in a little while. Great job, really." Nick could not wipe the smile off his face as he ran swiftly out the door.  
  
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	6. Chapter Six

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Catherine strolled casually into the meeting room where she found Warrick, Sara and Grissom all in attendance with a television and video recorder set up in the middle of the room.  
  
"Did you guys get Nick's page?" she inquired, which was a useless question, since it was obvious by their presence that they had.  
  
"Yeah, he asked us to meet him here," Sara remarked, averting her gaze to the floor and trying to keep her face from flushing in Grissom's company. Grissom appeared very solemn and quiet sitting to her left.  
  
"I wonder what's up?" Warrick mused aloud.  
  
Nick, holding a black video tape in his hands, came bounding into the room as excited as a child on Christmas morning. "You guys are never going to believe what I found out."  
  
"Try us," Catherine returned with a smirk.  
  
The anticipation of the group extended awhile longer as Nick inserted the tape, fiddled with the video machine, and changed the television station so they could watch the tape.  
  
"I was in ballistics talking to the technician about the thirty-two bullet fragments," he began, while fast forwarding through commercials and junk on the screen. "He was able to assess that the second casing had a partial print and the two bullets came from the same gun, and while he was talking, he mentioned seeing a report about the shooting at Mirabella's on the eleven o'clock news. So, I got to thinking about it and. . . "  
  
"Stop with the teaser already, what did you find out?" Sara sounded exasperated but showed a smile.  
  
"Patience, patience, my dear," he answered, slyly. "You present your way, I'll present mine, O.k.?" Nick blinded everyone again with that huge grin. "I got to thinking that the television station probably filmed the front of the restaurant not long after the murders occurred." He paused the tape suddenly. "O.k. Now watch this part carefully, right behind the news guy, ready?" He pressed play. "Look, can you see her?"  
  
"Whoa," Warrick exclaimed and moved in for a closer look. "It's her, Maggie Peterson, our victim from the hotel parking lot."  
  
"Yep." Nick beamed like he had just solved the riddle of the universe. "She was at the restaurant the same time that Teri was shot."  
  
"I suspected it awhile ago after something Sara said about the women sharing a lot of the same physical traits," Catherine announced, nodding her head. "I was beginning to think that Teri's death might have been a case of mistaken identity. If both women were at Mirabella's at the same time, someone might have killed Teri thinking she was Mrs. Peterson."  
  
Grissom just stared at the screen without saying anything.  
  
"Griss?" Catherine asked. "Do you have an opinion about this?"  
  
"I was just thinking about the fragility of life and how something as insignificant as someone's appearance could be the single cause of his or her death. It's too bad Teri wasn't a short brunette, if only for tonight." He sighed at the futility of the entire situation. "Good work, Nick, everyone. I appreciate you keeping me involved in the investigation. I still have some things to finish up in my office." He glanced around the room at his team and attempted to smile. He held his gaze on Sara a little longer than the rest and made his way back to his office.  
  
The group was silent until Grissom left the room. "He's really broken up about this," Nick announced.  
  
"Underneath that calm and cool exterior is a very sensitive man," Catherine stated, gently. They all nodded in agreement. "Nice job, Nick, let's get back to work," she finished and the night shift started to break up once again. Catherine noticed as Sara watched the door that Grissom had exited through, even after he was gone for a few minutes.  
  
"Sara?" she asked. "You O.k.?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered quickly. "Just thinking. Let's get back to work."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
"Fingerprints, fingerprints," Greg remarked, sitting on his favorite chair in the analysis lab. "My kingdom for some really clear fingerprints."  
  
"You mean you can't make anything out of this?" Nick asked with concern as Warrick stood next to him, both looking as impatient as they always did when dealing with Greg Sanders, the King of the Jokers. "Just come out with it, man."  
  
"I have the two partials that you gave me from each of the thirty-two casings; I scanned them into A.F.I.S. separately but there was not enough of each to get a match. So. . ." Greg grinned innocently at his hesitation. Life was good when he could torture these guys.  
  
"So, what, Sanders?" Warrick had an irritated tone edging in his voice; he and Nick exchanged an exasperated glance.  
  
"So, I used a computer program that enables me to combine both partial fingerprints in an attempt to construct a full or near-full print." He stopped again with a big smile and the silence was thick with anticipation.  
  
"Damn it, man. Did you get a full print or not?" Nick could no longer hide his annoyance.  
  
"Glad you asked. Yes, I did get a full print and it matched up to a man you would be very interested in speaking to."  
  
"Greg," Warrick spoke very slowly and softly. "You don't want me to beat this information out of you, do you?"  
  
"I'll help you," Nick said, making a fist and taking a step toward Greg, whose facial expression turned quickly from smart-ass to scared-ass.  
  
"Um, O.k., relax, guys. Where's your sense of drama? The print came back that it belonged to a convicted felon named Will Castor, who was incarcerated for, get this, 'murder for hire'. Pretty cool, huh?"  
  
"Will Castor. How long has he been out of prison?"  
  
"Two years without any further incidence, apparently. He's met his parole requirements and has been a model citizen until now," Greg explained.  
  
"I'll call Brass to bring him in." Warrick pulled out his cell phone and dialed the detective's number. "Brass should also be able get us a warrant to search his vehicle and property, too."  
  
Sara entered the analysis lab. "Anybody seen Catherine?" she asked. "I needed to talk to her for a second." By the pensive expression on her face, her manner had turned intense quite suddenly.  
  
Nick was about to answer in the negative when Catherine stalked into the lab with serious determination and a dangerous, feral look in her eyes. All the heads of the entire C.S.I. team in attendance snapped up to attention; they were all caught between concern for Catherine and fear for their own lives since each one hoped that he or she was not the cause of her anger. She held up her hands in severe annoyance and spoke carefully and emphatically.  
  
"If I get one more call on a shooting for the rest of the night, someone please shoot me."  
  
"Another one?" Warrick remarked, incredulously. "You have got to be kidding."  
  
"No, it must be the official celebration of the Second Amendment tonight. This one appears to be a suicide in a residential home. Warrick, please come with me. Sara and Nick, stay here and keep working, I'll keep you apprised of what is going on. "  
  
Warrick followed Catherine to her car, with discomfort, since he knew their being alone for awhile would give them an opportunity to discuss some recent personal business between them. He had almost started a conversation in that direction at Mirabella's earlier, but he decided to put it off since things had become really strange with them. He tried to judge what she might be thinking by her behavior, which wasn't exactly cold towards him, but not the warm Catherine with which he had become comfortable. She unlocked the doors and climbed into the car while Warrick stood outside the passenger door a moment trying to extend the time before they would have to talk; Catherine looked at him through the side window curiously and he finally gained enough courage to get inside the vehicle. He positioned himself into the passenger seat and struggled with his seatbelt when he realized that Catherine still had her gaze on him. He glanced over at the attractive redhead, nervously.  
  
"Uh, hi," he said, in an attempt to create a lighthearted atmosphere within the car.  
  
The unrelenting stare from those sapphire pools that caused him much vulnerability continued. "You know, I'm not going to bite you. You can get into the car with me."  
  
"I know that," he answered instinctively and hated how his voice came out with a defensive whine.  
  
Catherine's intent look melted a bit into amusement and she finally turned toward her steering wheel and started the car. Warrick was definitely cute when he was uncomfortable and squirmy; it was time to make him more uncomfortable and squirmy.  
  
Warrick figured that, whether there was silence or conversation, both were going to be awkward, so he raced through his brain for something to say; he grasped for some kind of excuse that would be plausible to Catherine.  
  
"You know, you could have just called." Catherine finally said. "I mean, one measly phone call afterward. I don't think that's such a big deal." She started driving in the direction of the crime scene.  
  
Damn, she was quicker than he was and got to the subject first.  
  
"I was going to," he started. "I mean, I just, well." He exhaled audibly. "Catherine, I just didn't know what to say."  
  
She looked over at him impressed by this effect she seemed to have over him. "Do I kiss that badly?" she asked, teasing him mercilessly. "It was only one long kiss after dinner, which I thought went very well."  
  
She could have never imagined that Warrick, who always appeared so cool, collected and sure of himself, would have ever been flustered at anything. She attempted to keep her giggling restrained as she watched him fidget anxiously, not knowing how to proceed or where Catherine might be going with this.  
  
"No! No, you kiss fine, I mean, I liked it, it's just.I've never, you know, started a relationship with a co-worker, that's all."  
  
"Oh, I understand. You just see me as a 'co-worker'." Catherine raked him over the coals some more and grinned inside; she was so evil sometimes.  
  
"No, Catherine, that's not what I mean at all, I meant that I never had a thing going with someone I worked with." It was then that he realized he'd just fallen into the trap she had set; he understood then that she was just playing with his uneasiness. Catherine looked over at him with a big grin and he had to turn his head so she wouldn't see his smile back.  
  
"I really would like to have dinner with you again," she said. "You know, I enjoyed spending time with you outside of work." His striking, light eyes met hers for a moment and he gave her another gentle grin.  
  
"I enjoyed it, too." He broke away from her gaze and looked down at his hands. "How about tomorrow?"  
  
"O.k." she accepted, trying to keep her giddiness from becoming obvious. "Now, that all of that is out of the way, we need to get our heads back on this case."  
  
"Right," Warrick agreed. "Suicide, huh? What did the detectives say?"  
  
"All signs point to an official suicide; the victim even left a suicide note, which contained a really interesting detail. Oh, I think this might be the street coming up." They knew they had the correct house because of the conglomeration of police cars upon the front lawn.  
  
"Interesting detail?" Warrick continued.  
  
"Yes, you'll see when we get inside," she remarked as she parked the car in the driveway.  
  
Warrick and Catherine exited the vehicle and she was surprised to see that Captain Brass wasn't milling around anywhere outside the house. They took the evidence kits out and sauntered up to the front door, flashing identification to the unfamiliar officers, who allowed them entry into the residence.  
  
"You the C.S.I.s?" asked a detective that Catherine recognized but could not place the name at that moment.  
  
"Yes, I'm Catherine Willows, this is my colleague, Warrick Brown. Where's the victim?"  
  
"Upstairs, first room on the right. It seems like a pretty standard suicide. Victim has a gunshot wound on his right temple, and we found a nine millimeter gun on the floor near his right hand. It's pretty messy up there."  
  
"I was told there was a note?"  
  
"Yeah, we left it on the table next to the body; we read it, but nobody touched it."  
  
"Thanks," she answered and started up the stairs with Warrick following behind her.  
  
They arrived at the door to see two police officers conferring outside before they entered the crime scene. She and Warrick took gloves and some small pieces of equipment out of the case. Upon first examination, they found a man with brown hair, dressed in very nice clothes, seated in a chair with his body leaning forward and his head upon the table which was covered with blood and beginning to drip onto the floor. A suit jacket that matched the man's pants, was strewn over the back of the chair. Catherine, seeing a sheet of paper next to the victim, moved carefully into the room, stepping over assorted items like papers and dirty clothes and picked it up at the corner with a pair of tweezers. She read it aloud to Warrick, who was beginning to take pictures of various parts of the room.  
  
"'I am so sorry, please find it in your heart to forgive me, Betty. I hurt all those people at the restaurant, I'm so sorry. Matthew.' Betty must be his wife or girlfriend?" She put the letter in a plastic bag and noticed a full bottle of pills on a dresser near the table; she picked it up and read the label. "Anti-depressants. The date on the bottle indicates that he filled this prescription a few weeks ago, but it doesn't appear that he took any of them. Does this guy have a history of mental illness?"  
  
A police officer standing outside answered that question. "We found out he was seeing a psychiatrist and his wife told us he had suffered from severe depression and a few other things for a long time now. He lost his job a few weeks ago and applied at Mirabella's, but they didn't hire him. Combined with the fact that he'd stopped taking his medicine, he must have just gone on a rampage. Such a terrible thing."  
  
"You think he's really our shooter? He does match the description the witnesses gave," Warrick assessed, taking a closer picture of the table and wall.  
  
Catherine sighed. "He probably is, but we'll know for sure after all this evidence gets processed. There's nothing here to suggest that the suicide was staged." She cautiously lifted the gun and placed it in another plastic bag.  
  
Catherine and Warrick spent a few more hours gathering evidence and taking pictures before heading back to the lab, exhausted after such a grueling night of work.  
  
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	7. Chapter Seven

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The grubby-looking man in the interrogation room seemed a bit twitchy and apprehensive as he sat at the table, waiting for the two criminal investigators to come in to speak with him. He kept chewing on his fingernails and spitting out pieces, a habit that Brass detested with a passion, and after watching him do that for forty-five minutes, he could stand it no more.  
  
"You mind keeping your nails on your person? I don't want remnants of you dirtying up my interrogation room after we haul your ass off to jail," he commented.  
  
"Go to hell. I didn't do nothin''," Will Castor answered, spewing another nail into the air with defiance.  
  
"Ah, but that's a double negative, sir, which means you did do something. Why don't you just make this job easier for us and confess. We got enough evidence to put you away for a long time. You sure you don't want us to get you a lawyer?"  
  
"I don't need no lawyer, I didn't do nothin'." The former felon turned his head to the side and began staring at the wall, making it obvious that he was now going to ignore Detective Brass for the rest of the time.  
  
"Oh, you're going to ignore me now? Aw, gee, you're breaking my heart all over the place." Just as the sarcastic words left his lips, Sara and Nick entered the room carrying a manila folder.  
  
"Mr. Castor, I presume," Nick announced, making a grand entrance. "I'm Nick and this is Sara, and we have a few things we'd like to talk to you about."  
  
"Well, you arrested me; where else am I gonna go, right?" he returned, holding up both hands bound by handcuffs.  
  
"Mr. Castor, two women were murdered by gunshot tonight. Are you able to explain why your fingerprints were on the two thirty-two millimeter casings at those two different crime scenes?" Sara asked, opening up a folder to study the results of the ballistics report.  
  
"How the hell should I know? I don't even own a gun."  
  
"Well, you're not supposed to own a gun because you're not allowed as a convicted felon to be in possession of any kind of firearm. So, can you tell us why we found a thirty-two revolver buried in the ground behind your house?"  
  
"I just moved in the place, the people who lived there before me probably put it there."  
  
"I see," Sara said in a very patronizing tone of voice; her eyes fell back upon the report. "The people who lived there before just happened to own the very thirty-two millimeter gun that killed two innocent women tonight. Ballistics was able to prove that the bullets we found at the scenes came from the barrel of your gun. The thirty-two millimeter revolver that you stupidly left your fingerprints all over. Just tell us, Mr. Castor, who hired you to kill Maggie Peterson?"  
  
"I don't know nobody named Maggie Peterson," he answered, stubbornly.  
  
"Another double negative," Brass warned in a sing song voice.  
  
Nick decided to intervene. "Mr. Castor, do you realize that we have enough evidence here to put you away for life or to get you the death penalty? Are you really that stupid that you're going to do the time for these murders and the person who put you up to it will get off scot-free? If you cooperate with us, I'm sure the district attorney will be appreciative." Will Castor's eyes moved back and forth between the two investigators.  
  
"Get me a lawyer. I'm not answerin' no more questions."  
  
Brass sighed in frustration. "O.k., that's it. Interview's over once he asks for counsel."  
  
"We'll find out by some other means, Mr. Castor. Either way, you're going to be spending time in a very small cell for a very long time." Sara picked up the folder and followed Nick dejectedly out of the room. Catherine had been waiting outside for them with what seemed to be good news.  
  
"Were we able to get the financial records?" Sara inquired. The team attempted to get a court order to obtain copies of the assets of Castor and the Petersons, since they suspected that Mrs. Peterson's husband might have been the one who hired Castor.  
  
"Yes, we got them, and guess who made a really large withdrawal of five- thousand dollars just two weeks before his wife was killed?"  
  
"Let me guess, Mr. Peterson?" Sara replied, with a very happy smile.  
  
"You bet," Catherine answered. "And guess who deposited five-thousand dollars into his bank account that same week? I think this is enough to have Brass bring Mr. Peterson in for some questions."  
  
"Well, there's a bit of a problem, ladies; those bank account records aren't really enough to show a connection between the two men," Nick surmised, reading the information over Catherine's shoulder. "Castor deposited the money as cash; there are no receipts or any paperwork that can prove he got the money from Peterson. I really wish Castor would just spill his guts, man. He needs to take Peterson down with him. "  
  
"Well, once he confers with a lawyer, he or she might convince him to do that for a lesser sentence," Sara said. "Until then, we've got to find some association between these two men. Here's a question: how could Peterson have met Castor?"  
  
"That's a great question, Sara. You and Nick work on that; I'm going to talk to Al about the autopsy on our suicide. Great job, guys." Catherine patted Sara on her upper arm and handed the financial records to Nick and started toward the morgue. Sara reopened the file so she could peruse the information awhile longer.  
  
"Does it say where Mr. Peterson works?" Nick asked. Sara's eyes scanned the sheets of paper.  
  
"Yes, he's a construction worker for Peyolis Building Company. I wonder if Mr. Castor works there as well." Sara raised an eyebrow and smirked at Nick. "Let's go find out."  
  
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"The elusive Catherine," Dr. Al Robbins had a pleased tone of voice as she entered the room. "I haven't seen you for quite awhile, how are you?"  
  
"Hi, Al, I'm good, but I'll be great if you can tell me this is definitely our shooter," she answered, glancing at the body of Matthew Grant lying in front of him.  
  
"Well, I can definitely tell you that this man did indeed commit suicide. Searing of the skin from hot gases leaving the barrel of the gun after it is fired is usually the most indicative evidence of a suicide. The size and placement of the wound on his right temple, including the soot marking, is consistent with having a barrel held right against the skin before it was fired and I found traces of gunpowder on his hands. The angle of the exit wound shows that the gun was held horizontally at the temple and shot in a straight line out the other side. You found the gun on the scene?"  
  
"Yes, on the floor near his right foot. It was a nine millimeter revolver which did show only his fingerprints and ballistics is trying to verify that it matches the nine millimeter fragments found at the restaurant, but my guess is it's most likely a match. This is just a case of a mentally ill person who wasn't getting the right treatment and took out his frustration in the worst way possible. All those innocent people," Catherine sighed and dropped her shoulders.  
  
"Yes, such a disgrace. What did you find out about Teri's killer? Was it Mr. Grant, also?"  
  
"No, she was killed with a thirty-two; Warrick was right about the second shooter. Teri was killed because of mistaken identity. Maggie Peterson, the hotel victim, well, we think her husband hired someone to kill her and he killed Teri first by accident. Brass arrested the guy who was previously incarcerated for 'murder for hire'. Sara and Nick had a warrant to check out his place and they found the gun, so we got him. Now we're just trying to get enough evidence to implicate the husband."  
  
"I hope they both go away for a long time, but even if they're away for life, somehow it still doesn't feel like enough justice for Teri's death."  
  
Catherine touched Robbins' arm compassionately. "I know. I found out her funeral is going to be on Wednesday; I thought you would want to know that, too."  
  
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"I'll be damned," Nick said, incredulously, holding a phone receiver against his ear. "Well, thank you, ma'am. Thank you very much." He hung up the phone in the meeting room and looked into Sara's eyes.  
  
"Yep, they both worked for Peyolis Building Company, which explains how they knew each other. Now how do we prove that the money Peterson took out of the bank is the same money that Castor deposited into his bank account?" Nick shuffled around all the papers from the files, racking his brain for a solution.  
  
"I can answer that one," Brass announced, from the doorway. He had a very happy expression upon his face. "Mr. Castor has become surprisingly cooperative and is, shall we say, singing like a canary after talking to his lawyer. The district attorney has promised to take the death penalty off the table in exchange for his testimony. He has implicated Mr. Peterson as having solicited him to kill his wife. Castor says he had a few beers that night and when he got to Mirabella's, he killed Teri thinking she was Maggie. Then, when he realized he had screwed up, he killed Maggie Peterson in the Luxor parking lot. The district attorney is asking for life in prison for Castor and possibly the death penalty for Peterson. I'm just glad that Peterson is not going to get away with this after all."  
  
"Oh, that is just so great," Sara said, looking relieved and laughing. "I'm glad all this hard work counted for something. It's a great feeling of accomplishment." She wondered to herself who would be the one to notify Grissom of the good news.  
  
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	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note : I really appreciate the kind and constructive comments about this story from all that have reviewed it and I'm very happy that most have enjoyed it. Thanks for all of your input : ).  
  
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Grissom was still suffering the after-effects of his migraine from earlier in the night as he signed his name to the bottom of his last report. He capped his pen with exhaustion and the relief that these reports from the last few days were finally finished. Then again, reports were never really completed; it was unfortunate in this violent world that more crimes would be committed eventually and there was no way to ever escape the death and horror of this occupation entirely. The human race caused Grissom his highest points of respect at times and his lowest points of loathing at other times. People were the strangest creatures; they could be so wonderful to each other. They were capable of such compassion and love for their fellow man. These same people could also commit the most heinous and repulsive acts against one another. This brought him a large degree of bewilderment and it was during the quiet moments like tonight, when the realization that his paycheck was the indirect result of terrible things people had done to each other, that this idea made him feel very ill.  
  
He was so engrossed in these thoughts that he did not notice the people standing in his doorway nor did he hear the accompanying knock upon the door. Grissom looked up to see the whole CSI team waiting for him to invite them into the room.  
  
"Griss?" Catherine remarked, her face beaming with cheerfulness. "We have good news."  
  
It took a moment for him to shift his prior thoughts away and get ready to absorb this new information. "Oh, good. Everyone, please come inside."  
  
All four of the immediate group entered the room, each with equal amounts of delight evident upon their faces.  
  
"We got him," Catherine continued. "We got the one who killed her, Griss. It's all over."  
  
Everyone contributed to the overall explanation and Grissom sat with a slight smile at this bit of news, especially proud of the great ability of his staff, but he was still saddened to learn that it was definitely a case of mistaken identity. It was such a senseless way for Teri to have left this earth; however, it was some consolation to him that she had left behind numerous accomplishments which had benefited the lives of many people. He removed his glasses and took a tissue to clean the lenses before speaking.  
  
"Very good work, everyone. I know in the past, there have been times that we have all been frustrated when cases didn't turn out as expected, but I'm pleased with all of your strong work ethics and unwavering resolve to find Teri's murderer. This case hit close to home with me; Teri was a good friend and one of us, and I appreciate you all coming to let me know how it all turned out. You are all an extremely talented and proficient team whose combined skills and astute abilities in problem solving just proves that the night shift is the best shift at the Las Vegas Crime Lab." He placed his glasses back on and gave them all a gentle grin of satisfaction in their collective performance.  
  
Everyone was speechless for a few moments at Grissom's unusually candid speech; he was so often reserved that they had never really known his true opinions of them as a group and his commendation was heartwarming.  
  
"Well, Griss. . .we were all going to go out for a drink after work, would you like to join us?" Catherine inquired, hoping that he would go since she thought, after all that had occurred, that he could use some company.  
  
"No, thank you. I'm really tired and I should just go home and get some rest. You guys have a good time."  
  
The team each thanked him for his kind words and left his office, but Sara lagged behind the rest to Grissom's surprise. She seemed a bit nervous in his presence as she stood with her hands dug deeply in her pockets.  
  
"Um, Grissom?"  
  
"Yes, Sara." The words of love that had crossed his mind earlier were just on the verge of being spoken and it took all of his resistance to hold them back while being absorbed by those incredible brown eyes.  
  
Searching Grissom's features to try to reveal his deep thoughts, Sara just stared at him silently for a moment. "I'm really sorry about Teri," she finally answered. "I didn't get a chance to tell you before."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Sara gave him an awkward smile and moved toward the door.  
  
"Sara?" She detected something in his voice that made her stop and she turned back around.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
It was then that Sara noticed a difference in his countenance, his eyes appeared intense as if he were trying to convey some inexpressible message and she wasn't aware how long they stood there studying each other.  
  
"Have a nice time with everyone," he replied, unable to take his eyes from hers.  
  
"Um. . .O.k. See you tomorrow." She hunched her shoulders slightly and stood for a few more hesitant seconds before leaving his office.  
  
Grissom watched her walk away and was overcome by a rush of regret; he should have told her. He should have just let the syllables fall from his lips and allowed the whole world to stop its rotation for just an instant because now she was gone, and if by some horrible twist of fate he never saw her again, she would never know the truth. Burying his face in his hands with disdain, he understood that he had lost his opportunity once again.  
  
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"Helping humankind in some significant way is a goal for which many strive, but a goal that few actually reach as well as Teri did. She will be forever remembered for her compassionate personality, her great intelligence and skillful expertise, as well as her determination to give her best in every challenge that came her way. I, as well as most others, feel privileged to have known and worked with her and we will all miss her very much." Grissom finished the eulogy at the podium and produced a rose from his jacket which he placed gently upon the coffin. "Rest in peace, Teri; thank you for your friendship."  
  
Grissom sat back down in the first pew next to Catherine who was crying softly after his heartfelt speech; if there was anyone who could have said all of that with such eloquence, it was Grissom. The rest of the team was assembled next to Catherine with heads bowed in respect.  
  
The remainder of the service was just as glowing and beautiful, and when it was over, everyone headed to his or her vehicles. Grissom was putting his key into the lock when a blond gentleman with familiar blue eyes, came over and extended his hand to him.  
  
"Mr. Grissom? I just wanted to introduce myself; we've never met before. I'm Philip Miller, Teri's brother. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated what you said about her. Her work was so important to her and she would have been happy to know that it had been so well recognized. I can't believe she's really gone, I miss her so much."  
  
Grissom now noticed the strong resemblance between them as he shook his hand. "She was a very kind person," he returned, softly.  
  
"She spoke very highly of you; she said there was a lot of mutual respect there, that you treated her like an equal and didn't just see her as another pretty face, as a lot of other men she had worked with."  
  
Grissom just smiled and nodded. "She was a very intelligent and charming lady. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. I wish you well in this very difficult time." He climbed into his car and watched as Philip Miller walked away.  
  
Family, it was a word that wounded his heart as it went through his thoughts. He had spent so much time alone that he had almost forgotten what it would be like to be surrounded by people who loved him. He sat and imagined the future, when he would have his funeral and wondered, of what would his eulogy consist? What would friends and loved ones have to say about him? Actually, the question that burned foremost in his mind was the idea of "loved ones" and would he have any to bid him a final farewell? In that moment of reflection, there was nothing more disheartening to him than the thought that he might die alone someday. Grissom put his key in the ignition and listened quietly to the comforting purr as the engine turned over, then started on his long journey home.  
  
END 


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